


Home Improvement

by cassie_black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, HP: EWE, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2340212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_black/pseuds/cassie_black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he hired Maison d'Etre to bring Grimmauld Place back to life, Harry never expected Draco Malfoy would end up doing the same for him.</p><p><b>Career Choices:</b> Harry: Unemployed; Draco: Interior Designer</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Improvement

**Author's Note:**

> For [Prompt # 212](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NnIZtnyWEqbQHgi3U6N1CwbznCTkDeZGWJqgEw6KRrQ/).
> 
> Thank you to the mods for running this awesome fest, and for their patience with my disorganisation. Also to E for the short notice beta. Dear prompter, hopefully this is close enough to what you had in mind!!!

Despite some prejudiced opinion to the contrary, Harry Potter wasn't stupid. He even had the NEWT results to prove it. But he was also human, and, as such, was prone to the odd schoolboy error. Like forgetting to lock the Floo behind him that evening.

When the first shout echoed through the house, Harry was in his bedroom fresh from the shower. He looked at his clock – a whole hour had passed since he left the Ministry; Hermione was slipping. Harry had just tugged on a pair of jeans when a loud 'pop' heralded Kreacher's arrival. House-elves were no great respecters of privacy.

"Master has unexpected visitors. Should Kreacher be sending them away?"

Kreacher had been trained out of his dislike for Hermione's blood status over the years, but her lack of respect for old wizarding traditions – in particular of a house-elf's role – still provoked disdain on his part when she visited.

Harry grabbed a towel and roughly dried his hair. He'd love nothing more than to have Kreacher send Hermione, and probably Ron, away with a flea in their ears. But it was only prolonging the inevitable. There was a conversation to be had that couldn't be avoided, and over the years, Harry had learnt that situations such as this were not unlike removing a plaster – the quicker you got it over with, the less painful it was all round.

Abandoning the towel amongst the other clutter on his bedroom floor, Harry snatched up a t-shirt off the bed. "No, it's fine. I'll go down and see them."

Kreacher looked unimpressed – Harry had yet to meet his exacting standards of how a 'proper wizard' should behave.

Tugging the t-shirt over his head, Harry headed for the stairs. And not before time it appeared, as Hermione had already started her ascent, clearly set on seeking him out. Her hair was even more dishevelled than usual – a sure sign of inner turmoil.

"There you are." She came to a halt on the third step, eyes narrowed. "Harry, we need to talk."

"Somehow I thought we might." Harry gave a wry smile. "You can go back down now; I'm coming."

Hermione watched until he was only a few steps away, apparently distrusting, before returning to floor level. She didn't leave the hall, though, and waited for Harry to enter the living room first before she followed – door closing firmly in her wake.

Harry wasn't at all surprised to find Ron there, wearing a path as he paced before the fireplace. "Harry!" He came to a stop. "It's not true, is it?"

Hermione perched in one of the fireside chairs, hands clasped in her lap. "Of course it's true, Ron." Her tone impatient. "Kingsley told us himself. He's hardly likely to make it up."

Harry sank down into the worn old sofa. "I hope he hasn't sent you to change my mind. It'll be a waste of your time."

The familiar flush of anger and frustration rose in Ron's face. Harry suspected an explosion was inevitable. "Waste of time?" he demanded. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not going back, Ron. It isn't what I want."

"Since when? You said you _wanted_ to be an Auror and then you just abandon everything like this. It doesn't make sense." Ron sank into the chair opposite Hermione; his expression practically beseeched Harry to help him understand.

Harry sighed and rubbed his face – more in an effort to buy time than anything else. He'd never been any good at talking about his feelings – something he and Ginny had agreed on. "I _did_ want to be an Auror," he said finally. "Or at least I think I did. But that was ages ago, and it might have been more about spiting Umbridge than anything."

Ron looked even more confused, but a smile crossed Hermione's lips at his last words. "That was over five years ago, though. Why would you still join up if you didn't want it?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't know what else to do. Besides, everyone kept talking about me following in Dad and Sirius's footsteps, and I just…"

"Just what?" Hermione prodded when it became clear he wasn't going to continue.

Harry stared intently at the floor. "I didn't want to let everyone down."

"Oh, Harry." The pity in her tone made Harry's skin itch.

"Don't," he said, voice rough.

Hermione was never that easily dissuaded. "Living your own life isn't letting them down. If anything, it's honouring their sacrifice."

Harry blinked hard – he _wasn't_ going to get upset. There'd been too much of that lately. Thankfully Ron was there and he had other concerns.

"But we were gonna be partners, change the Ministry. Now I'll probably get stuck with Bullstrode – you know no one else wants to partner a bloody Slytherin!"

"Don't be so prejudiced, Ron." Hermione fixed a steely glare on her boyfriend. "Millicent is an excellent Auror candidate – Kingsley told me so himself."

Ron looked like he wanted to argue the point, but, like Harry, he'd learnt better over the years. "Are you sure you won't change your mind? What else are you going to do with yourself?"

And there it was – the all important question. The one that everyone would want the answer to. And Harry still had no idea what that was. "I can't, Ron." Harry chose to focus on the first part, hoping to delay the latter.

"They'd take you back in a flash, you know they would."

Harry did know that. The Ministry had made it perfectly clear how much they wanted 'Harry Potter' on their books when they'd offered to waive NEWT requirements at the end of the war. Harry had refused special treatment then, and he didn't want it now.

"I don't want to go back. I'm tired of fighting." He meant more than just criminals, but didn't go into detail. He knew Hermione'd probably figure it out for herself.

"I just wish you'd felt able to talk to us." Hermione's brown eyes were wide and sad-looking. "I can't believe you've been carrying this alone for so long and I didn't even know."

"I didn't _want_ anyone to know," Harry replied. "Not 'til I was ready to make a decision."

"So what changed?" Ron clearly wasn't happy with the situation still, but the anger seemed to have faded. "Why today?"

"I'd had enough." Harry wasn't going to admit the nausea and the sleepless nights that his job had caused. The feeling of defeat that had engulfed him every time he'd pulled on the uniform. "There wasn't anything in particular. I think I'd just—"

"Reached breaking point," Hermione finished for him, and her eyes seemed to shimmer with unshed tears.

"I'm okay." Harry wanted to reassure her and placate his own guilt at causing upset.

"No." She shook her head. "You're not."

Harry smiled faintly. "No," he admitted slowly. "But I think I will."

"So what _are_ you going to do now?" Ron persisted.

"Honestly, I don't know yet. I'm sure I'll think of something." Harry wasn't sure he believed that, but it wasn't like he needed the wages desperately. It might actually be nice to take some time out for himself.

"There's no hurry, is there," Hermione said, much to Harry's relief. "You should take your time and make the right decision." The _this time_ was unsaid but implied. "Just promise me you won't lock yourself away in this gloomy house."

 

~*~*~*~

Gloomy house.

That was where it all started, and Harry reserved the right to blame Hermione for everything that followed.

Well, almost everything. Harry was willing to admit that taking Luna's advice on a decorator had been something of a schoolboy error, too. But in his defence, he'd been so traumatised after a day being dragged around IKEA by Hermione. A day where he'd looked at endless pictures and cushions, and more candles than a person could need in _two_ lifetimes. It had left Harry exhausted – physically and mentally – and desperate enough to clutch at any solution that banished the prospect of a repeat performance. Which, now that he thought about it, made this Hermione's fault as well.

"—ter! Potter!"

Someone was calling his name. A rather irritated someone by the sound of it, and it brought Harry back to the present. He'd been staring blankly at Malfoy for some time now and had yet to speak. With a vague hope that this was some kind of a dream, Harry blinked rapidly. To no avail. Draco Malfoy was very definitely on his doorstep. And he looked almost concerned.

"Are you quite all right, Potter? You don't look at all well."

"Fine." Harry gave himself a visible shake and bit back every sharp retort that sprang to mind.  _Why are you here?_   was next on the tip of Harry's tongue, but the sample books – bulging with swatches of fabric and wallpaper – clutched in Malfoy's hands both answered that question and caused Harry's heart to sink. "Oh. You work for Maison d'Etre?"

"I _own_ it, Potter. Malfoys are no one's lackeys."

Harry wisely didn't mention the whole _Death Eater minion_ part of the Malfoy past. However, his expression either gave his thoughts away or Malfoy was more self-aware than he once was.

"If we are to work together," Malfoy said, clutching his books to the tense lines of his body. "I believe it would be advisable to avoid that topic altogether. Don't you agree?"

Harry did, and nodded sharply in reply. There was nothing he disliked more than prodding at memories best left forgotten.

"Wonderful." The relief was visible on Malfoy's sharp features. "Now, why don't you invite me inside and we can talk about what it is you're looking for. I was given to believe that a complete overhaul was needed."

Harry stood back from the door and gestured into the hall. He'd never cared in the slightest about the interior of his house – little had changed since it had served as the Order's headquarters – but as he watched Malfoy scrutinise first the hallway, and then what had once been the drawing room, he couldn't help but feel exposed. It was like this insight to his home was sharing more with Malfoy than just his disinterest in interior design.

Malfoy's gaze immediately went to the wall, covered in a myriad of brightly coloured paint patches, haphazardly dashed on the wall by Hermione in a vain attempt to kick-start Harry's interest. He turned from the rainbow wall, expression pained, and an obvious question on his lips.

"Hermione," was the only explanation that Harry offered. Apparently it was sufficient because Malfoy's expression relaxed notably.

"Thank Merlin."

It was enough to cause Harry's ever-ready hackles to rise. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Malfoy responded with surprising calm. "Relax, Potter, it wasn't meant as a slur. I'm just relieved I don't have to work with someone who considers _that_ a valid colour palette for this house."

"It's not that bad." Despite the fact he hated the oranges and pinks as much as it was evident that Malfoy did, Harry felt a perverse desire to disagree. "There was a sofa she saw in IKEA that would have gone with it perfectly, apparently."

Malfoy appeared to blanch, though Harry wasn't sure how it was possible for him to seem any paler. "IKEA? Please tell me you're joking?"

"What's wrong with that?" Harry asked, and wondered if he was ever going to get off the defensive.

"Have you no soul?" Malfoy demanded with just a hint of the dramatics that Harry remembered from school. He gestured around him with a flourish. "This is a beautiful period town house, not some mass-produced box lost in suburbia. You can't fill a property like this with flat pack furniture; it's sacrilege."

Harry couldn't help but be reminded of the neat and uniform estate that he'd grown up on, each house a carbon copy of the next. He managed to hold back a shudder at the memory, but found himself nodding nonetheless.

Malfoy began pacing slowly around the room, fingers trailing over various furnishings as he went. "So," he said finally, "If that is Granger's contribution to the décor, is the rest of it down to you?"

Sensing the thinly-veiled judgement, Harry was quick with his denials. "It's pretty much the same as when I moved in. The sofa's mine, and that chair…I was always out before, so I didn't really have the motivation to decorate, even if some of the fixtures and fittings would let me."

Malfoy looked around the room, his nose scrunched in obvious confusion at Harry's words. "Sticking Charms?" he asked finally, expression clearing.

Harry nodded. "I had to silence the portrait _and_ put curtains up. Even quiet, she was unbearable."

"Portrait?" Malfoy looked around the room as he spoke. Harry couldn't help but notice that the 'nose-wrinkle' was back – though he would have to Obliviate the thought of how cute it was later.

Unaware of the affect his actions were having, Malfoy walked back into the hallway. The portrait in question was rather obvious behind the heavy, velvet curtain. A quick peek behind and he stepped back sharply.

"Great Aunt Walburga," he commented, composure swiftly back in place. "That explains why this place felt so familiar."

"Sirius left it to me. He was my godfather." There was a hint of challenge to Harry's tone, as if daring Malfoy to dispute his rightful ownership.

Malfoy's lips curved in a faint smile. "Relax, Potter, I'm not planning to pull the 'Black heir' card." He paused and looked around the shabby hallway. "But I would like to help restore some of its former glory."

" _Glory_?" Harry's brows raised in question along with his tone.

The faint smile became a full one now. "Okay, so not the best choice of words. But I'm a Black as much as I am Malfoy, and I'd be honoured to take on this project. If you'll let me."

"How honoured exactly?" Harry managed a smile of his own now.

"Not enough to do it for free. Nice try, Potter, but I'm part Black, not Hufflepuff."

Harry was as surprised as Malfoy looked at the laugh that escaped, and even more surprised to realise that they were having an almost friendly conversation. "This might just work," he said finally.

Malfoy gave a laugh of his own. "Stranger things have happened."

 

~*~*~*~

It took only a few days for the shine to rub off the idea.

Tuesday was not the best of days for Harry. He'd made a visit to the Ministry to return his uniform and fill in some necessary paperwork to make his departure official. Of course, there had been numerous last ditch attempts to change his mind, and Harry had come very close to hexing Kingsley when he'd brought up Sirius. Now all he wanted was a long bath and to crawl into bed – forgetting the day had ever happened seemed like the best option.

His Floo, however, had other ideas, and refused stubbornly to allow him through. With the nearest Apparition point to Grimmauld place almost a mile away, Harry was definitely not in the sweetest of moods when he finally reached his front door.

And on the other side, instead of the relaxation he craved, was a bomb site.

In the three hours since he'd been gone, Harry's home had been reduced to a shell – walls and floor stripped, and curtains pulled down. A quick glance at the dismantled fire place in the front room made the reason for Harry's extended journey apparent, and to top it all off, his house appeared to have been overrun by house-elves. What seemed like dozens of the little creatures were scurrying about wreaking more devastation as they went. When they started to pull the plaster down in the hall, Harry could watch no more.

With his original plan now seeming unlikely, he went for the next best option – caffeine. And hopefully some time to calm down before he set off in search of Malfoy.

But because that was just the kind of day Harry was having, Malfoy was already in the kitchen – at _his_ table, drinking from _his_ mugs, and chatting up a storm with _his_ best friend. It wasn't quite the final straw, but it was close enough.

"Slacking off already?" he asked, with no effort to moderate his tone.

Malfoy seemed unfazed, which only annoyed Harry further. "I was just talking Hermione through my design plans. _She_ actually showed an interest, unlike some people who shall remain nameless.

"And what is your design plan exactly? World War III? Because that's what it looks like up there. It's chaos, and there are bloody house-elves everywhere. _And_ I could have sworn I saw Greg Goyle leaving just as I arrived."

Malfoy waited patiently for Harry to finish his explosion, but betrayed no emotion. When he opened his mouth to respond, however, Harry turned to Hermione instead.

"This is all your fault," he accused. "I knew I shouldn't have listened."

Hermione took a sip of coffee, but amusement glinted in her eyes over the rim.

"And there are elves up there," Harry added, irked by the lack of reaction. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"I know there are." Hermione set her cup down and looked over at Harry. "They work for Draco."

"Draco?" Harry wondered if he was actually still asleep, because a dream – or a nightmare – seemed the only logical explanation. "But they're _house-elves,_ Hermione! What about SPEW?"

Malfoy raised one eyebrow in interest. "SPEW?" he repeated, then turned to Hermione. "Is he going to vomit or something?"

Hermione laughed and Harry made a mental note to check himself for mind-altering hexes later. He was either in some kind of alternate reality, or this was one very convincing hallucination.

"They're free elves, Harry. It's fine, really. I don't understand why it's a problem for you – you have Kreacher."

"Yes, but he's—"

"Indentured?"

"Yes." Harry paused and did his best to ignore the smile Malfoy wasn't trying to hide. "No. Just stop avoiding the question."

There was no disguising the amusement on Hermione's face now either. "And what _is_ the question exactly?"

Harry slumped, defeated, into an available chair. "How the hell am I meant to live in this building site?"

Malfoy shifted in his chair to face Harry. "Relax. I've got another team coming in later – it'll all be sorted by morning, although maybe a little bare. You won't even hear a thing."

"You see?" Harry turned to Hermione. "More elves!"

"You're being ridiculous now. Stop it." The glare Hermione gave was a Molly Weasley special, and Harry wondered idly if Ron knew he was marrying his mother. He let it pass, though, because Hermione slid a steaming cup of coffee across the table to him "Here, have this. Maybe the caffeine will help knock a little sense into you."

Harry wrapped his hands around the mug and felt the heat of the Warming Charm seep through him. He raised the cup to his lips, but paused halfway. "Did you make this?" Hermione might have mastered Molly's glare, but the kitchen skills were definitely a work in progress. She could burn water, according to Ron.

Hermione narrowed her gaze and even Harry's tired brain could work out he was on borrowed time. "Taste it and find out."

Which was rather a worrying challenge, but Harry was fairly confident that Hermione was unlikely to poison him – not intentionally, at any rate. "That's not bad," he said, before going back for another sip.

"Not bad?" Malfoy demanded. "It's bloody nectar, is what it is."

Harry looked from the cup to Malfoy's indignant face. "Did you make it?"

Malfoy gave a quick shake of his head. "Not me." Then he gestured at the worktop where a big shiny coffee machine now stood in the spot that Harry's kettle had once occupied. "Bertha did."

Harry glanced at Hermione and mouthed _Bertha?_. He got only a smile in return.

"We come as a pair," Malfoy continued. "Where I go, she goes."

It was an effort for Harry to quash the laugh this provoked. "Oh, so is this like _the love that dare not speak its name_?"

"Oh, bugger off, Potter." Malfoy leant back in his chair, arms folded, but there was no heat in his words and a faint smile on his face. "Any more cheek from you and its back to those vile cremated beans you had masquerading as coffee in your cupboard."

Harry looked pointedly at the bare patches on his walls where the kitchen units had once been. "Cupboards?"

But Malfoy remained unfazed, and dismissed Harry's words with a wave of his hand. "Just remember, you are not to touch her. Not unless I issue an embossed invitation to do so, which believe me, will never happen."

Harry side-eyed Hermione again, and this time shared a good-natured smile at Malfoy's rambling. Maybe it wouldn't turn out to be a complete disaster. He picked up his mug again in both hands and inhaled the rich smell with satisfaction. With coffee like that as the reward, he rather thought he could tolerate Malfoy's presence a little longer.

Apparently satisfied that both his point was made and his coffee appreciated, Malfoy turned his attention back to his designs. Hermione was a suitably impressed audience and made noises of approval in all the right places. Harry smiled to himself at the thought of what Ron would say if he could see them now. Of course, Ron was probably enjoying the peace and quiet of his nice, Malfoy-free flat. Harry leant back in his chair and stretched his legs out comfortably under the tale. "So, what _was_ Greg Goyle doing here earlier?"

 

~*~*~*~

Draco Malfoy was a liar, Harry decided as he stripped the dust sheets off his kitchen table a week later. A big, pointy-faced liar. Part of Harry's brain reminded him that Malfoy really wasn't all that pointy anymore, but he wasn't about to let the truth get in the way of a good rant.

"Would Master Harry like his coffee now?" Kreacher was entirely too smug about his permission to use _Bertha_ for Harry's liking, but at least it did give him access to it in Malfoy's absence.

He grunted something that passed, in Kreacher's eyes anyway, for yes, and slumped into one of the few remaining chairs. Malfoy had been struck with a new 'vision' for this room, hence it's continuing resemblance to a building site – and it was driving Harry _mad_.

Now that he was home a lot more, Harry liked to start his day with a nice cup of coffee and a leisurely read of the _Prophet_ , but Malfoy's presence – and that of his minions – was making this increasingly difficult. Granted, it had also greatly improved the quality of the coffee, but it was doing very little for Harry's ability to relax. So he took the proffered coffee from Kreacher's and decided to wander.

As he headed upstairs into the hall, Harry was forced to admit that the house was definitely starting to look better, even in its unfinished state. The walls had been re-plastered, the floorboards stripped, sanded, and re-varnished, and new light fittings throughout. He was actually starting to look forward to seeing the finished product.

He found Malfoy in the study – not that Harry was prepared to admit this had been his aim. The changes were evident here, too. There were new bookshelves either side of the restored fireplace – courtesy of Greg Goyle, who had, apparently, moved on from school-yard bully to skilled carpenter. There was a new leather-inlaid desk, which Harry was fairly certain he would never use, but couldn’t deny looked good. And his favourite of all Malfoy's purchases, a battered-looking leather arm chair. It was the comfiest chair Harry had ever had, and when Malfoy wasn't at work it was where Harry was to be found.

Malfoy was atop a ladder, hanging curtains. The stretch as he reached upwards displayed the long lines of his lean body. When Harry managed to separate the body from who it belonged to, he could admit it really was rather fit. Malfoy had definitely grown up well – Harry was certain he hadn't had an arse like that back at Hogwarts, or Harry would have figured out his bisexuality a lot sooner.

"Enjoying the view?" Malfoy didn't turn around but was obviously aware of Harry's presence. Harry choked audibly on the mouthful of coffee he had just taken.

"Can I help you with something?"

Harry shook his head before remembering Malfoy couldn't see. "No," he said. "I'm just looking round."

"Well, while you're here you can make yourself useful and hand me those hooks there."

Harry followed the direction of Malfoy's gesture to a small pile on the window sill. He handed them over and was rewarded by a glimpse of pale skin as Malfoy stretched further and his shirt escaped the waistband of his trousers.

"Do you have plans today?"

Harry tore his gaze away, thankful Malfoy was focussed on the curtains and couldn't see the fluster on his face. "Uh, no, not really."

Malfoy _hummed_ in response and slid another hook in place. "So do you have plans in general? Or have you abandoned your Auror career so you can mooch about this house watching me?"

"I haven't really thought that far ahead," Harry admitted. "It was sort of an impulse decision."

Malfoy laughed. "You, impulsive? Surely not." He paused for a moment, concentrating on the task at hand. "Don't you have something you could be doing?"

"Well, it's not like I can relax in front of the TV, is it?" Harry demanded – his tone a little harsher than intended. It shouldn't matter to him that Malfoy appeared to want rid of him, but it did, a little.

Malfoy appeared not to notice. "I meant like a hobby or something."

"Hobby? What am I, a twelve year old girl?"

Malfoy looked back over his shoulder just in time for Harry to see the roll of his eyes. "Well, what did you used to do when you weren't at work?"

Harry was caught for a moment, watching long expert fingers settle the folds of fabric in place.

"Potter?"

"Sleep," Harry said finally. It was sad but true. "Which I can't do right now as your minions are currently destroying my bedroom with a disturbing amount of glee."

"Don't forget I've seen your room, Potter. In terms of destruction it was pretty much there already."

"Hey!" Harry protested, more because he felt he should than because he minded the comment.

"No carpet, bare walls, and that hideous orange blind." Malfoy ticked each offending item off on his fingers. "Not even a lightshade. There are homeless people with nicer doorways than that."

Harry scowled with more feeling this time. "It had a bed. That's all I really need."

Malfoy seemed genuinely surprised at his words. "All you need? What kind of existence is that? Life isn't just about necessity."

"Now you sound like Hermione."

Malfoy shrugged. "She's a smart woman."

Harry barely had to fake the wide-eyed surprise.

"Oh, don't give me that look." Malfoy climbed down off his ladder and turned to face Harry again. "Some of us have moved on since Hogwarts."

In response, Harry slumped into his new favourite chair. Only the disapproval in Malfoy's gaze caused him to straighten up a little. "So what do _you_ do then?"

Malfoy frowned in apparent confusion. "How do you mean?"

"What's _your_ hobby?"

"I draw." Malfoy didn't expand and turned his attention to fitting the tiebacks in place.

"Are you any good?" Harry wasn't sure why, but he was genuinely curious.

"It's not about good. I do it because I enjoy it."

"That's a no, then," Harry said, a touch smugly.

Malfoy turned to glare now. "No, it's…I'm not bad."

Harry had seen a few of Malfoy's design sketches so it wasn't hard to believe. "What do you draw?"

"People mostly," Malfoy admitted quietly. "Faces. There's more of a story there than a still life."

Harry nodded; he could see that. "Have you always done it?"

"Since I was a child. I find it helpful to have something to lose myself in."

"I'd like to see some time." And Harry was surprised by just how much he meant that.

"Maybe." A slow smile crossed Malfoy's face. "You don't think it makes me a twelve year old girl, then?"

Judging the question rhetorical, Harry sipped his lukewarm coffee and watched as Malfoy unrolled a small rug and began positioning it _just so_ in front of the fire. "I didn't realise you were this hands on."

Malfoy looked up from his crouched position, stray strands of hair falling into his eyes. "You mean I don't look like the type to get my hands dirty."

Harry laughed – that was exactly what he'd meant.

"I prefer to dress the room myself." Fortunately Malfoy hadn't taken offense. "House-elves don't really have the eye for it, you know?"

Harry nodded and reached out to deposit his mug on the new table at his side – only the lack of coaster _and_ Malfoy's expression changed his mind. He held it firmly on his lap instead. "So how did you get into it anyway?" he asked, keen to divert Malfoy's mind from potential mug rings on the furniture.

Malfoy took a step backwards and perched on the window sill. His expression was thoughtful and he remained silent.

Fearing he had trod somewhere unwanted, Harry said hurriedly, "You don't have to if you'd rather not."

Malfoy shook his head. "It's not that. It's just, it skates dangerously close to that topic we agreed to avoid."

Harry smiled, genuinely surprised at Malfoy's tact. "I think we'll be okay now."

Malfoy watched him intently for a moment, as if to test the truth of his words, and then began speaking softly. "After the war, there were a lot of bad memories in the manor."

Harry didn't say, could well imagine this to be true from both what he'd _seen_ and from the stories he'd heard at the Death Eater trials.

"There were so many rooms that neither Mother nor I could bear to use. And being the social pariah's that we were, no decorator with any business sense would touch us. So I decided to do it myself. It was that or go crazy. It was nice to have a purpose at last."

Harry nodded encouragingly. He knew that feeling all too well.

"Anyway, it turned out I was rather good at it, and it was fun." Malfoy's look then dared Harry to mock or to disagree. When neither was forthcoming, he gave a slight nod before carrying on. "Father always expected that I would go into the Ministry, but obviously that was no longer an option." He gave a rueful smile. "Besides, apparently I'm too 'emotional' for the political arena."

Harry couldn’t help but smile in return. He remembered only too well some of Malfoy's more spectacular 'emotional' outbursts, and as far as he was concerned, it was better that Malfoy be like that than end up like either of his parents.

"Father wasn't happy, obviously. But I pointed out that it was the most honest thing our name has been associated with in decades, so he can hardly complain. I think Mother just likes the regular makeovers." Malfoy gave himself a shake, an action that reminded Harry of the way he kept bad memories at bay.

"So what about you?" Malfoy asked after a few moments silence. "How come you ended up as an Auror? Or is that a daft question now?"

Harry sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. "Honestly, everyone just assumed it was what I wanted, and I couldn't think of anything else, so rather than disappoint them…"

Malfoy let out a soft laugh. "Only you, Potter."

Harry joined him. There was something freeing about admitting the truth out loud. And Malfoy was far enough removed from the situation as to make it easy.

 

~*~*~*~

The sun was already well-established in the sky by the time Harry woke. Work on his bedroom had ceased while Malfoy made the final decision on the 'perfect colour palette', so Harry had made the most of the opportunity. Doing nothing was a lot more tiring than he'd expected.

The sound of voices from downstairs was enough to rouse him from the cocoon of warm sheets. Malfoy clearly had company and it wasn't the high-pitched chatter of house-elves. Curiosity peaked, he grabbed jeans and t-shirt from where he'd dropped them the night before and quickly dressed.

As he padded barefoot down the newly-stripped staircase, a rumble of his stomach hinted at the lateness of the hour and sent Harry in the direction of the kitchen.

But the room, when he entered it, bore little resemblance to the room he'd seen less than twenty-four hours before. The back wall, where the kitchen units had once stood, was no more. And in its place, a wooden conservatory-like structure stretched out into the garden beyond. A quick look upwards showed a pitched glass roof that promised wonderful views of the night-time sky beyond.

In the middle of the newly-erected structure, dressed in overalls and muddy boots that would surely give Malfoy heart failure if he saw them, stood Neville Longbottom.

"When did this happen?" Harry wondered out loud.

Neville turned sharply at this. "Hey, Harry! Pretty impressive, isn't it?"

Harry crossed the room into the conservatory and looked around. It really was impressive, and completely unexpected.

"Your new dining room, apparently," Neville said. "Malfoy had his elves working through the night."

Harry nodded absently, too busy gazing around. He'd agreed to redecorate as a way to placate Hermione, but he'd never expected anything like this. Given half a chance he'd move his bed down here.

"Hermione'll be after you if she finds out you've been using _slave labour_."

"Huh?" Harry pulled his attention reluctantly from his surroundings. "Oh, no, she was fine with it."

"She's not started knitting hats for them, then?"

Harry grinned at the memories this evoked. "No. Her and Malfoy are quite friendly, believe it or not."

Neville didn't look like he struggled with the concept. "He's not a bad bloke now."

Harry was a little surprised to hear that, given the history between the two. But then he supposed if he had noticed that Draco Malfoy had grown up, others probably had too. "Not to be rude, Nev, but why are you here?"

"Draco asked me to sort out the garden for you. No point having all these windows when the view resembles a slum. His words, not mine," Neville added hurriedly.

Harry had no trouble imagining that, and to be fair, there was more than a grain of truth in it. The garden was long neglected – mainly because Harry never went out there. Before leaving the Aurors, Harry had spent little time inside the house, never mind the garden. But he couldn't deny the small thrill that ran through him at the prospect now. It seemed like Malfoy was anticipating needs that even Harry didn't know existed.

"I didn't realise you two were friends."

"Not sure about friends, exactly," Neville replied. "But he puts a fair bit of work my way, and we get on all right."

Harry was surprised by a sudden thought of how easily Malfoy could slot into his life. Surprising because he hadn't really been considering Malfoy that way, and even more surprised by how little the prospect scared him. But that was a thought for a later date. Much, much later.

"I'm surprised you have the time," he said, keen to change the subject. "I'd have thought Ginny would have you up to your neck in wedding preparations. It can't be long now."

"Three months," Neville replied. "Apparently my main contribution is to turn up on time and wear what I'm told. The Weasley women have it all under control."

Harry laughed – he'd glimpsed Molly's excitement at the prospect of her only daughter's wedding, so he could well imagine how it was. "You're probably better off staying out of it."

"That's what Ginny said. Apparently Molly can be quite…"

"Exactly." Harry grinned again. Despite his history with the bride-to-be, he felt not the slightest twinge of envy. It was weird just how _un_ -weird the whole situation was.

"She wanted me to invite you round for dinner next weekend – reckons no one sees you anymore." Neville paused for a moment before adding, "You should bring Draco with you. I'd love to see the look on Gin's face."

Harry nodded for a moment, and then stopped as Neville's words sank in. "You know Malfoy and I are just friends, right? Well, sort of friends. But it's nothing like _that_."

"Oh, sorry. I just thought…" Neville tailed off, but he didn't _look_ that sorry, or that convinced either.

But there was no time for Harry to expand on his denials, as the door opened then to admit a rather dishevelled-looking Malfoy. Harry noticed the dust on his clothes and what was possibly a cobweb in his hair, but his main focus was on the familiar box in Malfoy's hands.

Malfoy dumped the box on the old kitchen table and fixed Harry with a steely gaze. "Tell me, Potter," he began in a deceptively calm voice. "When you said you didn't have a hobby, had you forgotten about this little box of tricks, or were you just lying to me?" Words finished, he tipped the box on its side and spilled the contents onto the table's surface.

Harry heard Neville mumble his excuses behind and then the click of the door as he escaped to the garden. Not that he paid it much heed, Harry's attention was on the scattering of familiar photographs and the slight ache they evoked in his chest. "It wasn't a lie," he said, tone just a little sulky. "I haven't touched these in years."

Irritation morphed into confusion on Malfoy's face. "Why?"

"Why what?" Harry knew, but was playing for time.

Malfoy gave him a look that said he had his number. "Why would you stop? You've obviously got a talent for it, and you wouldn’t have kept all this if it didn't matter to you."

Harry shrugged, feigning an apathy that really wasn't there. "I didn't have time for it. I was so busy with Auror training, and there was Ginny at the time. She didn't like me wasting time on this instead of spending it with her, so it was just easier to stop."

Malfoy wisely held his tongue on that subject, for which Harry was grateful. "So what got you started with it? I don't remember you doing this at school."

Harry always felt a little validated by comments that showed Malfoy had paid as much attention to him at Hogwarts as vice versa. "It was Colin Creevey's," Harry said, indicating the camera. "His mum gave it to me. Said Colin would want me to have it." Even now Harry's throat tightened at the memory. "It didn't feel right to leave it in the box, so I tried it out." He paused for a moment, remembering the feeling. "It was nice to have something just for me. Especially then."

Malfoy nodded as if he knew how that felt, and Harry supposed he did, in a way.

"You have time now."

"The camera's broken." Harry remembered vividly the sickening crunch when he'd dropped the box – the shattered casing an uncomfortable metaphor for the state of his life at that time.

Malfoy's brow furrowed. "So buy a new one. It's not like you can't afford it."

Money wasn't the issue though. "It doesn't feel right to replace it," Harry admitted. He knew it was as silly as it sounded, but it was also the truth.

Malfoy shook his head. "Honestly, that guilt complex of yours will be the death of you one day. You mope about this house all day, moaning you've got nothing to do, when all the while there's _this_." He reached out and spread the photographs over the table. "I'm surprised Granger hasn't intervened."

"She doesn't really know," Harry said. "I mean, she knew I had the camera, of course. But not that I used it as much as I did. I didn't want to share it with anyone."

If Harry had known how short a time that would remain the case, he would probably have held his tongue. But hindsight, unlike his vision, was twenty-twenty, and something about Malfoy just made him want to _talk_.

 

~*~*~*~

Harry spread the paper out on the table in front of him and heaved a sigh of relief. The chatter of house-elves was silenced, as was the noise their hammering had caused. He felt the smallest twinge of guilt at taking out his mood on the small creatures that had only been doing their jobs, but the peace and quiet he'd gained in return more than made up for it.

The conservatory had swiftly become Harry's favourite room in the house, and despite Malfoy's insistence that it function as a dining area, Harry was strongly tempted to install his favourite leather armchair in there. Perhaps that would wait until after Malfoy's departure, though, he thought. No point in there being needless arguments.

The door opened then and Malfoy strode into the kitchen. He'd been busy all morning and had firmly refused all offers of assistance or company from Harry – not that this was the cause of Harry's bad mood at all. He nodded in Harry's direction before heading across the room out of view. Now bored of the day's news, Harry closed the paper and sat back in his seat – his mind now focussed on the search for a suitable conversation starter.

Needless effort as it turned out. After several minutes of silence, Malfoy reappeared in the conservatory, a steaming mug of coffee in each hand. As he took the proffered drink, Harry thought it possible he might miss Berth more than anything once Malfoy was finally done.

"Potter, we need to talk."

That sounded serious and set Harry's insides squirming with the possible implications. "Okay. About what?"

"Are you ever planning to leave this house?" Malfoy asked.

"What?" Harry had been prepared for many things, but this had thrown him off track.

"I appreciate that this house is becoming more delightful by the day, but you need to get out occasionally." Malfoy paused for a sip of coffee, before adding, "People will start to think I've got you locked up in the cellar."

Annoyed now, both at Malfoy for his impertinence, and at himself for having such ridiculous thoughts, Harry scowled. "Go where, exactly? All my friends are at work."

"You could always try getting one of those yourself. I thought the idea was to change career, not to give up altogether."

"How is this any of your business, exactly?" They'd gone several weeks without the faintest flicker of irritation, but Harry could feel his temper rising now.

"I'll tell you how it's my business, Potter." There was something oh-so-familiar in the way Malfoy said his surname that time. "You employed me to redesign this house, which I'm trying to do. But it's a bit bloody hard when you keep chasing my elves out of the room because you want to wallow in self-pity."

"I wanted to read the paper," Harry said mulishly. Just because Malfoy had a valid point, didn't mean he was going to back down.

"Then pick another room." Malfoy ran a free hand through his hair, exasperation clear in both his tone and expression. "Merlin knows you've got enough of them. Or if you must be in here, _use a Silencing Charm_."

Harry flushed a little at that comment. "I never thought of that," he admitted.

Malfoy let out an audible sigh, and then sank into the chair opposite Harry. "Look, Potter, I realise that this is a difficult time for you. And I sympathise, really."

Harry was surprised to see nothing but sincerity on Malfoy's face along with these words.

"But if you ever want me, or those bloody elves, out from underneath your feet, you're going to have to let us get the job done. And if that means putting up with a bit of noise, or remembering you’re a wizard, then that's what you'll have to do. Okay?"

"I didn't make them leave the room," Harry said, carefully avoiding Malfoy's gaze.

Malfoy snorted. "They might be free elves, but the old instincts are still there. They anticipate your needs, and one look at your face this morning was enough to set them scurrying. And the shouting didn't exactly help."

"You heard that?" Harry met Malfoy's gaze with a sheepish one of his one.

"Potter, I think number thirteen heard it. What's wrong with you today?"

Harry shrugged. "Nothing. I'm just a bit tired, I suppose."

"Tired? Not after a night in that new bed of yours." Malfoy looked outraged at the barest suggestion. "I have that bed at home, Potter, and it's impossible to have a bad night's sleep in it."

"Fine," Harry snapped. "Well, why don't you tell me what the problem is if you know so damn much."

"You're bored," Malfoy replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You wander around this house like some kind of lost soul because you have no purpose."

The fact that Malfoy was right didn't make it any less an unpleasant truth to hear. Harry got up from his chair and pushed it under a table with a loud scrape. "Fine, I'll get out of your way then. Pardon me for living in my own home."

Harry had barely made it into the kitchen before Malfoy was on his feet behind him. "Potter, wait!"

Having no actual destination in mind, a part of Harry was relieved. The other, more vocal part of him, was still pissed off. "What now? Thought of another way to have a go at me?"

"I wasn't…Look, maybe what I said came out wrong."

"Maybe?" Harry leant back against the half-finished worktop, arms crossed over his chest.

"Okay, it _did_ come out wrong. I genuinely wasn't having a go at you. Believe it or not my intention was to help."

Malfoy sounded sincere so Harry decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Okay," he said, and dropped his arms from their defensive position. "You might want to work on those helping skills, though. They're not what you'd call your strong point."

"There's a reason I work with houses, not people." Malfoy gave a rueful smile as he spoke. "Look, all I was trying to say was that I don't think it can be good for you to spend so much time indoors. Even in a house as fabulous as this one will be."

Instead of being defensive, Harry went with the truth this time. "Go where? Do what?"

The uncertain look left Malfoy's face to be replaced with a smile – but not the mocking one that Harry had feared. "I'm glad you asked me that." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. "I have something that will help with that – it's what I was trying to give you earlier."

"That's how you give presents?" Harry shook his head, a smile on his face. "You must be a joy to be around at Christmas."

"Be nice, Potter. I can always take it back."

Curiosity roused, Harry held up his hands in a placating fashion. "I'll be good. Promise."

Apparently satisfied with this, Malfoy took out his wand and, with an extravagant flourish, resized the box. It wasn't wrapped so its contents were immediately apparent. Harry stared in stunned silence.

Malfoy shifted uncertainly, the box still balanced on his outstretched palm. "Well, say something."

Harry tore his eyes from the box to meet Malfoy's wary gaze. "You bought me a camera?" He stepped closer but didn't take the present yet. "Why?"

A light flush suffused Malfoy's cheeks. "Just take the damn thing, will you."

Overwhelmed by confusion, Harry did as he was bidden. Now, camera in hand, he examined the box. "You bought me a camera," he repeated. "A really good _Muggle_ camera."

"Good?" Malfoy huffed audibly. "It's the best."

"But how did you know—"

"I asked Hermione." Malfoy cut Harry off, seemingly keen to end the conversation.

Something warm and, as yet, unnamed, squirmed in Harry's belly at the thought of Malfoy working with Hermione for his sake. But he just didn't understand. "Why?"

"I think the word you're looking for is thank you."

Harry flushed. "Thank you," he said quickly. "Really. This is…Well, it's amazing. I just…this can't have been cheap, though."

"It's not like I'm poor. Besides, it's worth every penny if it gets you out from under my feet."

Harry smiled at that. He knew Malfoy was avoiding the answer but didn't want to push it. Yet. "Seriously, this is great. But I can't—"

"Yes, you can," Malfoy interrupted firmly. "You'll be doing me a favour by letting the elves get on with their work. And I have an idea for a display of pictures on the staircase." He reached out and topped the box with one finger. "So you better get snapping."

 

~*~*~*~

In the three years since he'd last picked up a camera, Harry had known he missed it. But he hadn't realised just how much he missed it until the moment he'd held Malfoy's gift for the first time.

True to Malfoy's wishes, he had spent most of the last three days out of the house snapping pictures of anything and everything he could. The beauty of Apparition meant that he had pictures from locations all over the British Isles. He'd even paid a surprise visit to Hogwarts, much to the surprise of Hagrid, who'd been only too happy to pose as required. Professor McGonagall had not been so receptive, but Harry still had high hopes for the pictures when he eventually managed to get them developed.

The lack of dark room facilities meant Harry's current option was a Muggle shop, but the numerous rolls of film contained many pictures that were likely to raise a Muggle eyebrow or two. He'd have to work something out soon, with the rate at which the filled rolls were piling up. But now wasn't the time to worry about that. He was supposed to be home to meet Hermione five minutes ago, yet he was currently still in the north of Scotland.

He arrived home moments later, scarf still wrapped firmly around his neck, and his cheeks flushed from the cold.

"Harry! There you are at last."

Harry walked into the living room towards Hermione and spotted an overnight bag by her feet. "Sorry I'm late." He frowned then, eyes on the bag. "Are you going somewhere?"

"No." Harry hadn't even heard Malfoy enter the room behind him. "You are. We've already discussed this."

Harry unlooped his scarf and shrugged off his coat. Ignoring Malfoy's glare, he dropped them both of the sofa. "It was hardly a discussion. You ranted on for ten minutes and I said I'd think about it."

"Well, the time for thinking is over. Now it's time for you to leave." Malfoy gestured at the fireplace with a flourish.

"You really are still as melodramatic as you were at school, aren't you?"

"Say what you like, Potter. This is part of the creative process, and I insist on you leaving?"

Harry turned an outraged expression from Malfoy to Hermione and back again. "This is  _my_ house, and if you keep this up you'll be the one leaving." But apparently Harry had spent too long in Malfoy's company of late – his rants and glares had lost what little effectiveness they had.

Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest and stared Harry down.

"Hermione." Harry could hear the whine in his own voice, but really didn't care.

"Oh, come on, Harry." Hermione picked up the overnight bag that Malfoy had instructed Kreacher to pack for Harry. "It's only for one night. Besides, I think it's a nice idea."

Malfoy's expression was unbearably smug. "You're a sensible woman, Granger. I always knew you were."

Harry spluttered at the outrageous lie, Hermione grinned, and even Malfoy had the grace to look abashed. But he remained firm. "You're just being difficult for the sake of it now. Give me one good reason why you won't stay at Hermione's tonight?"

It wasn't that Harry didn't know Malfoy was right – he was digging his heels in on principle now – but still… "Because I have my own bed, in my own house, and I want to sleep there tonight. Besides, her sofa bed makes my back hurt."

"Use a damn Cushioning Charm." Malfoy threw his arms up in the air in frustration. "Call yourself a wizard." Harry's glare hadn't lost all power though, because Malfoy paused and took a deep breath. "Look, it's just so we can get all the final touches done. You won't appreciate the finished product if you don't take a step back from it. I recommend it to all my clients."

"Insist, you said, not recommend."

Malfoy leant back against the windowsill and gave Harry a long, appraising look. "Let's just say I recognised that you needed a firmer hand."

The smirk that followed caused a flush to creep up Harry's neck. Hermione took pity on him, despite her giggle at Malfoy's words. She took hold of his arm. "Come on, I've got Neville and Ginny coming around later for a takeaway. It'll be nice for us all to catch up."

"Yes, Potter." Malfoy's look was still too intense for Harry's comfort. "Go and see your friends. It's time to end this hermit-like existence, and when you come home tomorrow, I promise you won't even recognise this place."

"That's what worries me."

Malfoy actually looked offended at this and Harry couldn't escape the twinge of guilt. "I'm sorry," he said hurriedly. "I was only joking. Look, I'll go, but after tomorrow I want my house back."

Malfoy nodded but the look of triumph Harry expected was missing. "Don't worry. After tomorrow I'll be out of your hair."

Hermione took hold of Harry's arm and guided him quickly to the newly-installed fireplace before he could change his mind. As the flames flashed green around them, Harry thought he saw Malfoy's expression turn almost sad, but next thing he was tumbling onto the tiles of Hermione's hearth and the thought went away.

As Harry scrambled to his feet, Hermione headed towards the kitchen. "I'll put the kettle on."

Harry followed her into the kitchen and hopped up on the worktop. When his swinging feet banged loudly against the cupboard beneath, Hermione glared.

"Stop that. And stop sulking, too. Anyone would think Draco had asked you for a kidney, not for the chance to do his job." She turned on the tap and held the kettle under the flow of water. "The job _you_ employed him to do."

Harry scowled. "He can do that while I'm there. I don't see why I have to leave."

"He wants to impress you with a grand reveal."

"I'm already impressed." Harry admitted it begrudgingly. It was the truth, but he couldn't quite help the sulky tone that came with it.

"So I've noticed." Hermione didn't say anything else, but her tone implied so much more.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Hermione didn't answer straight away. She retrieved two mugs from a nearby cupboard and set them down on the counter, before reaching for the coffee.

"Hermione!" Patience had never been Harry's strong point. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only that you seem impressed with more than just Malfoy's decorating skills.

"That doesn't make any sense." But then it did, and Harry could feel the heat rise in his cheeks again. "I don't…That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" The clink of spoon against china filled the kitchen as Hermione filled cups. "I'm not blind, Harry. I see the way you look at him."

"I don't!" Sure, Harry had sneaked a few glances, but he was only human, and Malfoy was always…stretching.

"Harry."

"Okay, fine." Harry held up his hands, unable to stand firm when faced with Hermione's _I'm so disappointed with you_ tone. "So maybe I looked. But he's not a bad looking bloke; it's only natural."

Glass rattled as Hermione opened the fridge door. "You're not the only one looking, you know."

"What?"

"Draco," Hermione said, her gaze concentrated on the pouring milk. "He likes you, too."

"That's ridiculous. And there is no _too_."

"Do you know how long it took him to decorate Luna's house?" Hermione asked, and then continued before Harry could speak. "A week! He was at Padma's for five days, and Penelope's for eight. He's been in your home for almost a month."

Harry wondered if the flush on his neck was going to become a permanent thing, and made a mental note to buy polo necks. But the warm feeling in the pit of his belly, which he refused to name as hope, began squirming madly at Hermione's words. "It's a big job," was all he said, though. "It doesn't mean anything."

Hermione slid the coffee across the worktop to Harry before answering. "On its own, no. It's just circumstantial," she admitted.

Hopeful the conversation was over, Harry took a sip of his coffee – just as Hermione asked, "Who bought you that fancy camera?"

Harry spluttered a little, mouth full of hot liquid. And from the look on Hermione's face, she knew her point had been made.

 

~*~*~*~

Harry wasn't sure what he felt most nervous about – seeing the finished product of his home, or seeing Malfoy again after what Hermione had said. Because it was like her words had opened a flood gate, and practically every thought he'd had in the last twenty-four hours had been about Malfoy. It had made for an interesting evening, with knowing looks directed his way all night, and smirks from Ginny, who, come to think of it, had previously accused Harry of having a thing for Malfoy.

For once the lure of photography had failed him today. The hours until the specified time he was allowed to return home had dragged unbearably. But they were over now, and with his nerves very much on edge, Harry made his way home.

Part of Malfoy's instructions had been to enter via the front door – no Flooing or Apparition --apparently it was important to make the grand entrance. With Hermione's words fresh in his mind, Harry had agreed without protest. But as he approached the front door, he was beset by second thoughts. It felt like an important moment and he cursed his friend for putting ideas into his head. Malfoy was his decorator. _Only_ his decorator, and tomorrow he'd be gone and Harry would return to his previously solitary existence, albeit in nicer surroundings. Getting his hopes up now would only make it worse when it happened.

His feet felt like lead as he walked up the steps. Harry faced the front door and took deep breaths to settle himself. Before he could reach for the handle, the door swung open and Malfoy was on the other side – clearly waiting for him.

"I thought you were planning to stand out there all night." Despite the briskness of his tone, Malfoy had an uncertain look in his eyes. Nervous almost.

Harry smiled. "I was just savouring the moment."

Malfoy grabbed his arm and dragged him inside. "You can do that in here." He gestured at the house around them before returning his gaze to Harry. "So, what do you think?"

Harry was still staring at Malfoy, though, and had no idea what the interior of his new home looked like. So he tore his gaze away to take in his surroundings.

It looked amazing. Even to Harry's untrained eye.

The hall and stairs looked like the entrance way to a completely different house. One that was more fitted to the pages of those fancy magazines his Aunt Petunia used to read.

The parquet floor was polished to an impressive shine, and Harry could already picture Teddy skidding along on his knees the next time he came to visit. The walls had been painted a soft yellow colour, bringing light to the previously gloomy hallway. The banisters had been stripped and waxed, and the rest of the woodwork freshly painted. It really did look amazing, and this was just the first room.

Harry turned to Malfoy who had been watching him expectantly the whole time. "It's great."

Even without Hermione's words, Harry was fairly sure that the smile on Malfoy's face now would have done the trick. "Really? And you don't mind?"

"Mind?" Harry frowned. "Mind what?" He looked around the entrance way again and within seconds had his answer. There, all up the stairs wall, in a variety of different sized frames, were _his_ photographs. Wide-eyed with surprise, Harry stepped closer. Some of them were the old ones, the ones that Malfoy had originally found. But others were simply blank frames, clearly waiting for the arrival of Harry's new creations. Harry had been sceptical of Malfoy's assertion of his talent, but seeing his work displayed like this he couldn't help but feel proud.

"Thank you," he said softly. "It'll probably be a while before those empty ones get filled, though."

"Nonsense," Malfoy said briskly. "Look, I was going to leave this until last, but now that you've brought it up, it seems the right time to do it."

"Do what?" Harry asked, puzzled by Malfoy's cryptic words.

In lieu of a reply, Malfoy took hold of Harry's hand – his _hand_ — and dragged him downstairs, through the kitchen, towards the cellar. Dank and musty, and completely unused since the Black wine collection had run dry, Harry had never used the room. He hadn't bothered to suggest Malfoy touch it either. It wasn't like he was short of the space.

Only Malfoy had apparently taken it upon himself. As the door opened, Harry could see that the walks had been scrubbed and cleaned and painted a bright white. There was also a desk and chair, and a large storage cabinet, which Harry found very odd as he already had the study upstairs. But one look at Malfoy showed him so pleased with himself that Harry didn't want to disappoint.

However, it all made sense when Malfoy pushed open the second door and flicked on the light. A soft red glow bathed the room, allowing Harry to see the counters built in around the edges. Their surfaces were littered with various sized trays, and lines were strung across the room, high on the walls – pegs in place ready to do their job.

"You built me a dark room."

Harry turned to Malfoy then – or Draco, as he supposed he really should start calling him – and saw there was something in his expression that he'd been missing for days. Or at least he hoped he was reading it right. Because otherwise there was a chance that he was about to make a big mistake. But then, Draco would be gone from his life tomorrow if he did nothing, so what did he really have to lose?

Harry crossed the room in a few determined strides. He had only seconds to glimpse Draco's wary expression before he crowded him up against the wall and pressed their lips together in a kiss that he hoped said what he didn't have the words for. Apparently it worked, because after a moment of stillness that made Harry's heart sink, Draco was kissing him back. Warm hands sliding up Harry's arms to wrap around his neck.

It didn't last quite as long as Harry would have liked, but from the expression on Draco's face when he pulled away, hopes for a repeat performance were high.

"Well," Draco sounded a bit breathless, "If that's what I get for this room, I can't wait till you've seen the rest of the house."

Harry leant in and brushed another quick kiss to Draco's lips – he wasn't sure he'd ever get enough of that. "Me either," he murmured, their lips a hair's breadth apart. "I think we should start with the bedroom."

And this time it was Harry who took Draco's hand and led the way.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or [on Livejournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/91182.html).


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